


Chirarizumu

by grydo2life



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossdressing, Drama, Gender Related, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s screwed. And the worst part is, he thinks he might be looking forward to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Tegoshi is six-and-a-half when he first realizes that his mother is not quite _normal_. He’s in school when it happens, first grade, sitting quietly in a corner with a soft, fluffy teddy bear clutched tightly in his arms, avoiding the other children, too shy to try to make any friends. He’s wearing jeans, brand new and too stiff to be comfortable, and a simple dark t-shirt, his hair neatly combed without any bows or ribbons, and he feels entirely unlike himself. He dislikes these clothes, would prefer one of his comfortable cotton skirts, the ones hanging neatly in his closet that his mother likes to pull out, cooing the whole while over how pretty it looks, how happy it makes her to see him dressed up just for her. He’s not allowed to wear those to school, though; his father won’t let him, ever.

It’s not until that day that he finally understands _why_. He hears it from his teacher, a flustered old woman who struggles constantly to keep the peace; that only girls can wear skirts. Boys don’t; it isn’t _right_.

It’s only then that he realizes that the things that go on at home –the dresses and skirts and make-up and ribbons—aren’t things that other boys do. Other mothers don’t encourage their sons to play dress up while discouraging rough housing. Other boys don’t go by two names at home, one for a boy and the other a girl.

He’s thirteen when he finally comes to terms with the fact that “not normal” is a horribly strong understatement. His mother is mentally unstable, he knows. _Delusional_ is the proper word. She’s not completely in touch with things, often lost in her own fantasies, sometimes not coming back from them for days. And it gets worse all the time. Tegoshi learns to watch her carefully, like a parent with a particularly troublesome toddler. It’s not easy on his own; his father is rarely home these days, because it’s easier for him to be in denial when he’s not there to witness it happening, and Tegoshi can only miss so many classes before the school begins to grow suspicious. He does his best, learns to lock her bedroom door when she’s having a bad week to make sure that she doesn’t wander into the kitchen and turn on the stove or microwave, learns how to lie to his teachers and forge her signature when he needs it.

It’s hard, but he loves her, and he does it because of that. For the same reason that he slips on a dark, long wig when he gets home, a neatly pressed skirt, lets her touch his face and clothes and giggle about what a good girl he is. It’s a thing of shame, embarrassment, but it makes her happy, and he bears with it for that alone.

When he’s eighteen, he makes the difficult decision to have her hospitalized. He feels horrible about it, guilty and miserable, but it’s the only option left. He can’t take care of her anymore; she needs constant attention now, from professionals; people who are trained to handle people like her. He can’t be there all the time, and he’s terrified that if he’s not, she’ll do something irreversible.

He spends weeks pouring over information; researching the best places in the area, various nursing homes designed specifically for people like his mother. Money isn’t an issue; his father sends them checks every week or so, and it’s usually far more than they really need. Eventually, he picks out a nice place with a friendly staff and good reviews.

And that’s where he is now, two years later on a Sunday afternoon for his regular weekly visit. He’s wearing one of his skirts, a pretty blue one that he knows his mother is fond of, and his hair –a wig, naturally— is pulled back into simple ponytail. The woman behind the counter in the front lobby greets him cheerfully, calls him “Yuuko” because that’s all they know him as here. He’s never seen any reason to inform them of the truth.

His mother is in her room, sitting on her bed, looking out the large window with a small smile on her face. He has to admit, she’s gotten much better since coming here. It’s a bit of a blow to his ego, knowing that they’ve done in just a scant two years what he couldn’t accomplish in eighteen, but he’s glad regardless. She’s more lucid now, on proper medication and undergoing therapy; she’s learned to deal with her problems, and Tegoshi finds that’s it nice, having her more rational, less lost in her dreamy versions of reality.

There’s one delusion that she steadfastly refuses to let go of, however, and that is Yuuko. Tegoshi has tried, so many times, to make her realize. To have her see that he’s Yuya, not Yuuko, and most of all to have her accept it. But she never does.

He doesn’t even try anymore.

She glances up at the sound of the door opening, and when she catches sight of him, her faces breaks into a bright, delighted look. “Yuuko-chan!” She coos happily, stretching her arms out for him. “My baby!”

Tegoshi smiles back, because even with all of her problems, she’s still his mother and seeing _her_ happy makes _him_ happy, and easily steps into her embrace; lets her hold him for a long moment before pulling away and sitting as gracefully as he can in the chair near her bed. She keeps hold of one of his hands, and although her grip is loose, Tegoshi doesn’t pull away.

The next hour is spent with quiet chatter. She tells him about her week, the therapy sessions and the new doctor (who is apparently very handsome) and the fact that their most recent adjustment of her medication seems to be working very well. In return, Tegoshi tells her about school, home, and _no, mom, I haven’t found a nice boy yet_. He keeps some things to himself, anything that she might feel would be inappropriate for a ‘proper young lady’, anything that might stress her in any way. It’s mostly small talk, but that’s how it usually goes. It’s hard to discuss the more detailed aspects of his life when he has to tip toe around the subject of his own gender.

Their conversation begins to wind down, after a point. They run out of simple subjects to discuss, and Tegoshi starts to steer things in such a way that he can take his leave.

He’s startled when there’s a knock on the door, twists around in his seat to look back as it creaks open. A brown-haired head pops in, and the face that’s attached to it is startlingly attractive, complete with adorably chubby cheeks and a mouth that seems like it’s made for smiling. The eyes are almond shaped, almond colored, and they dart around the room before settling on Tegoshi, blinking in apparent surprise. “Oh,” he says, and Tegoshi surprises a shiver at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company, Tegoshi-san,”

Tegoshi’s mother smiles widely. “Don’t be silly, Taka-chan!” She waves him in rapidly, and ‘Taka-chan’ gives her a pleasant curve of the lips, stepping in properly and coming closer when urged to. Tegoshi’s mother continues smiling, although Tegoshi himself doesn’t see it; he’s too busy trying to surreptitiously get a better look at this newcomer. “Yuuko-chan, this is Takahisa. He’s one of my nurses.”

He smiles, boys politely in Tegoshi’s direction. “Masuda Takahisa,” He introduces with something of a sheepish grin. “Nice to meet you.”

Tegoshi flushes, feeling oddly exposed under that smile, those eyes. He reaches up awkwardly, unthinkingly moving to smooth down his usually tastefully messy hair, but his fingers brush over the long strands from the wig instead and he abruptly remembers what he’s wearing, what he looks like. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat and ducks his head. “T-Tegoshi.” He offers, wants to add his first name, but for a moment, he’s not sure which one to _give_.

But Masuda just smiles, holds his hand out for a shake, and when his fingers close over Tegoshi’s, his grip is gentle and warm.

“I… um…” Tegoshi’s not sure what he wants to say, but he’s intensely aware of the fact that he needs to leave, and quickly, or else something embarrassing is going to happen. He goes to stand, avoids meeting his mother’s knowing grin, and awkwardly motions to the door. “I should… go. I have homework.” He doesn’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

Masuda gives him that same smile, although this time it looks a little nervous. “If you like…” He coughs, and Tegoshi thinks he might see a blush dusting those cheeks, “I’ll walk you out.”

Tegoshi wants to decline, politely of course, because he doesn’t want to chance making a fool of himself in front of this handsome stranger, but before he can, his mother giggles from when she’s sitting. “Such a gentleman!” she coos, and Tegoshi wants to groan, because he knows _exactly_ what she’s trying to do.

Smiling somewhat tightly, he turns to his mother, gives her a hug goodbye like he always does. Masuda waits for him patiently, shifting his weight around like he’s anxious and eager. It’s oddly endearing, really, and Tegoshi ducks his head to hide the small smile that creeps up at the sight. After he’s said his goodbyes and collected his bag (an over the shoulder type, because he draws the line at purses), they slip out of the room, Masuda holding the door open for him kindly.

The walk down the hallway is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Masuda stands close to him, close enough that their shoulders brush every few steps, and when they reach a section where the hall has been narrowed by an unused gurney and a few other odds and ends, he gently slides a hand against the small of Tegoshi’s back and steers him around it. It’s a strangely comfortable gesture, and even though he’s blushing madly, telling himself that he should pull away _now_ because this is very, _very_ bad, he still finds himself leaning into the touch, not minding when Masuda doesn’t remove his hand.

He’s almost disappointed when they finally reach the front entrance. Masuda walks him to the parking lot, stopping only when they reach the curb. He hesitates, reaches up to absently rub the back of his neck, and Tegoshi takes the moment to admire the muscular structure of his upper arms, toned and surprisingly prominent. He flushes when he realizes what he’s doing and hurriedly averts his eyes. When he speaks, his throat is dry.

“I should… ah…” He swallows, clears his throat, feeling unusually timid. “I need to… go.”

“Oh,” Masuda sounds disappointed, but he smiles anyway, and Tegoshi finds himself thinking that he was right about him being made for it. “Well… it was nice meeting you,” Masuda laughs softly, grinning sheepishly, holds out a hand for Tegoshi to take.

“You too.” Their fingers curl around each other’s palms, and the spark between them is nearly palpable. Tegoshi thinks Masuda might feel it too, from the way his eyes sparkle gently as they ghost over Tegoshi’s features. It makes him feel warm inside, having those eyes on him, for a reason that he can’t really place.

“I guess… I’ll see you again?” He looks so hopeful at the very prospect that it makes Tegoshi’s lips quirk up.

“Sunday.” He offers, unable to stop himself. “I come to visit every Sunday.”

“Sunday, then,”

Masuda stands there on the sidewalk outside of the nursing home, hands stuffed in his pockets and feet balanced somewhat awkwardly on the curb, while Tegoshi makes his way through the parking lot on feet that feel like rubber, and when he finally finds his car, falls into the driver’s seat with a sigh of relief, Masuda hesitates, then waves in a cheerful manner. He doesn’t leave that spot until Tegoshi’s car is out of sight.

* * *

The drive home is long and tiring, and while it’s usually a source of frustration for Tegoshi, who is not particularly known for his patience, today he’s grateful for it, because it gives him the time to calm himself and gather his thoughts. (Admittedly, it’s probably bad that he’s driving while distracted, but then, he’s not really known for being particularly smart, either.)

It bothers him greatly, that he can’t get that earlier encounter out of his mind. He knows what it was, of course; attraction, desire. He’s felt it enough times to know what it’s like, and he’s certainly no stranger to lust.

But what lingers so heavily on his mind is the fact that this was so much _stronger_ than anything he’s ever felt in the past. It was more than just the natural captivation that comes with seeing someone he wouldn’t mind commandeering for a round in the bedroom (although that particular type of want was definitely present); it felt more like… a connection. Something natural, fluid, almost familiar. That first touch, when their hands had met, and even the second and third in the hallway, had felt… oddly right.

And that’s concerning. Tegoshi is a romantic at heart, but a realist of mind; he believes in love, but not love at first sight. And this had felt uncomfortably like the latter.

In the end, he decides to push it to the back of his mind. He has a week to figure this out; to box it away so that it won’t become an issue the next time he and Masuda meet. Because it _will_ be an issue. If they had met somewhere else, at the supermarket or the bank or, hell, even one of the nightclubs that Tegoshi is fond of visiting when he doesn’t have class, then maybe something could be made from it… but not now, not when Masuda thinks he’s Yuuko, the pretty and proper daughter that his mother always wanted but never really had.

So he’ll ignore it, he’ll move on, and maybe somewhere down the line he and Masuda can become friends… or something. But not more. Definitely _not_ more.

* * *

When Tegoshi wakes up in the middle of the night to sticky, wet sheets and Masuda’s face in his mind, Masuda’s name on his tongue, he groans, buries his face into his hands and feels a bit like crying.

“ _Fuck_.”


	2. Part Two

It’s late the next morning when Tegoshi finally stumbles out of bed, but he isn’t particularly bothered by his late start, since he doesn’t have anything planned and no classes to attend.

Kato, one of his roommates, is in the kitchen when he wanders in, sleepily rubbing his eyes and fighting back yawns. If he’s completely honest, he would have preferred it to be Koyama; he and Kato are friendly, but Kato has a tendency to pick on him a bit. He claims it’s because everyone else spoils Tegoshi, and therefore it falls on him to keep the balance in check, but really, Tegoshi thinks he just enjoys getting a rile out of his junior.

“Morning,” he mumbles tiredly, falling into one of the stools that sit around the island counter separating the kitchen from the living room. Kato eyes him with an amused smirk.

“Afternoon, actually. It’s almost one,” he tells Tegoshi, quirking an eyebrow. “Late night?”

Tegoshi just shakes his head, lips turning down as he remembers the night before, and the dream he’d had. The very arousing, very _embarrassing_ dream. Letting out a quiet groan, he buries his face into his arms to hide his blush. “Couldn’t sleep.” He answers, and really, it’s only half a lie.

Kato frowns, peers down at Tegoshi, and after a moment turns to the cabinet and pulls out a clean mug, fills it with fresh coffee and passes it to the younger. “Everything okay?”

Tegoshi moans in gratitude, taking it in both hands like it’s something sacred. He makes a noncommittal noise to the question and instead drains half of the warm drink down in one sip, grimacing as it burns his tongue but not complaining. Content now that he’s replenished his need for caffeine, he glances at Kato curiously, “Ne, where’s Keii-chan?”

Kato shrugs. “Work. He got called in early this morning.” He sounds vaguely disgruntled by this, and Tegoshi grins knowingly, which only makes Kato scowl harder. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” But really, he didn’t have to. And it’s not like he minds, anyway; if he did, he wouldn’t have let them move in with him in the first place. Personally, he thinks it’s kind of cute; Koyama and Kato make a surprisingly good couple, for all their differences, and Tegoshi sometimes secretly likes to think of them as the parents he never really got to have. He watches, amused, as Kato tries to hide the blush that’s starting to color his cheeks and neck, and finds himself taken over by a moment of impulsiveness. “Hey, Shige?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever met someone that you kind of… instantly liked?” Tegoshi frowns, not sure if that’s the right way to phrase it. He’s had Masuda on his mind all night, can’t get his face and voice and _smile_ out of his head. ‘Like’ seems a little bit too… _soft_ for what he’s feeling.

Kato looks a bit surprised by the question, and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “You mean, like… wanted?”

Tegoshi shakes his head. “No, I mean…” He stops, frowns, and then drops his forehead into his hands in frustration. “I don’t know _what_ I mean.”

But he’s in luck, because Kato seems to understand, leaning back against the counter with a thoughtful expression that Tegoshi thinks makes him look actually somewhat attractive. “I think I do.” The older offers, tapping his chin consideringly. “And yes, I have. Once, anyway.”

Tegoshi peeks up at him, interested. “Keii-chan?” He guesses. He’s surprised when Kato shakes his head.

“Actually, no,” Tegoshi is curious, it’s obvious by the look on his face, and Kato is smart enough to know that he can’t just dangle something like that in front of someone like _Tegoshi_ and then expect to walk away without spilling his life story, so he sighs in a very put-upon manner and crosses his arms over his chest. “It was in high school. He was in my homeroom; sat right in front of me.” He grins, oddly amused by it now. “I spent most of my junior year staring at the back of his head, hoping he’d notice.”

Tegoshi leans forward, listening intently. “What happened?”

Kato just shrugs. “He moved away at the end of the year; to America, I think. We’d only ever talked once, and that was when we met, so I didn’t find out about it until he was already gone.” Tegoshi thinks he looks vaguely disappointed, maybe a little regretful. It bothers the younger, the idea that Kato was in love with someone other than Koyama. To him, the two of them are made for each other. He doesn’t like the idea of the either of them with anyone but each other.

“What about Keii-chan?”

Kato actually smiles here, and it’s fond; happy. “Keii and I actually didn’t get along too well when we first met.” He laughs at Tegoshi’s scandalized expression. “I thought he was a little too strange for my taste, honestly.”

Tegoshi tilts his head curiously. “Then what changed?”

The older is quiet for a moment, thinking, and then finally shrugs. “I’m not really sure,” he admits. “At first I thought he was annoying, but he won me over eventually, and then we were friends.” Another smile, and Tegoshi recognizes it as the one Kato always has when he recalls something about Koyama that he likes. “And then one day, he was just… _special_.”

Tegoshi hums quietly to himself, considering what was said, thinking it over in his mind. “…do you ever wonder if it would have been better, though? I mean if you’d tried to say something when you were in high school.” If he’d done that, Kato wouldn’t have met Koyama, probably. Or at least wouldn’t have gotten together with him.

Kato looks vaguely troubled by the idea. “I’m not sure if you can really compare it, Tegoshi.” At Tegoshi’s questioning look, he goes on, “I never really knew him. I mean, yeah, there was something there, and it could have been good, I guess. But I never tried, and I might regret it, but I wouldn’t change it.” He smiles, “I’m happy with Keii.”

Tegoshi’s not sure if that really helps him or not, but it’s a nice enough thought that he’s willing to accept it for the time being. Kato probably thinks he’s a little bit off in the head now, after that particular line of questioning, but he’s too polite to comment. Tegoshi is grateful, because he doesn’t know what he’d say if asked, and when Koyama comes home that night and he catches him and Kato nuzzling in the hallway, he just smiles and for once doesn’t tease them mercilessly like he usually would.

An eye for an eye, after all.

* * *

Sunday comes around faster than he’d like, and before Tegoshi knows it, he’s back in the skirt –a pretty, knee length one in red this time—and wig, making his way down the hall to his mother’s room. Much to his displeasure, he has yet to find a place for Masuda, or the bizarre and somewhat worrying feelings the nurse seems to inspire in him. That isn’t to say that he hasn’t tried, because he has, to the point of distraction. But no matter what he does, he just can’t make sense of it.

He supposes that it might just be that this is something that can’t be neatly boxed away, but that’s not exactly an appealing thought. He’s learned over the years that if he can analyze something, dissect it down to the absolute most basic stage, he can make sense of it, sort it away, and move on. It’s one of the reasons why he decided to study psychology.

But this… this he _can’t_ make sense of. It’s too much, too strong, even now, a week later. It’s dizzying and confusing and just thinking about it makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, which isn’t always a bad thing, but this time, he thinks it might be.

He hopes against hope that Masuda isn’t working today, or that at least his shift has him somewhere on the opposite side of the building. He wishes he could cut the visit short, just to avoid the chance of encountering him, but he knows that his mother looks forward to these days, and he doesn’t quite have the heart to deprive her of them just because he’s a little flustered by her newest nurse.

Luck isn’t with him today, because halfway through their visit, there’s a knock on his mother’s door, and a few seconds later Masuda peeks in, smiling and friendly and just like Tegoshi remembers him being the Sunday before. His eyes light up when they land on Tegoshi, his smile widening, and despite his earlier reservations and confusion and downright _frustration_ , Tegoshi smiles back.

Masuda only stays for a few moments –just long enough to deliver Tegoshi’s mother’s medication—but he hesitates momentarily beside where Tegoshi sits, brushes his hand across Tegoshi’s shoulder gently. It’s a brief thing, barely there, but it still sends a shiver down Tegoshi’s spine, leaves his skin tingling beneath the sleeve of his blouse. He finds himself distracted after that, even when Masuda leaves the room, not fully focusing on the conversation, his mind instead on the young man that has effectively managed to capture his attention.

The visit is over quickly, quicker than usual, and before long he’s saying goodbye to his mother, giving her a quick hug, waving from the doorway before stepping out.

He’s somehow unsurprised when he finds Masuda there, waiting beside the door, leaning against the wall while attempting to look casual, although his apprehensive shifting gives him away. He straightens up when he notices Tegoshi, smiling happily but nervously, picking absently at the cuff of his sleeve as he scoots closer to where Tegoshi waits.

“Hey,” he grins, looking adorably shy, and Tegoshi’s lips quirk up at the sight. Masuda stuffs his hands into his pockets, takes them out again, rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, and Tegoshi waits patiently, know he has something to say. “Listen… do you… maybe want to get a coffee or something?”

It’s probably the sweetest invitation for a date that Tegoshi has ever had. And he gets them fairly often, as Yuya _and_ as Yuuko. He usually accepts the ones he gets as Yuya, but he always turns down Yuuko’s; it would be too complicated, too personal, too difficult to explain. He doesn’t want to chance the heartbreak it would inevitably lead to.

And this should be no different. _Say no_ , his mind hisses sternly, warningly, _turn him down, say no, no,_ ** _no_**.

“Sure,” he hears himself say instead. Inwardly, he’s shrieking at himself, appalled at his own idiocy, but all of that is drowned out when Masuda gives him the widest grin yet and eagerly moves to exchange numbers.

* * *

Tegoshi agrees to meet Masuda in the middle of next week, Wednesday, because it’s the only day that Masuda has off from work and Tegoshi can sneak out without his roommates knowing. Masuda gives him the name of a small, secluded café in a less traversed area of town, and tells him shyly, his voice quiet over the phone, that he’s looking forward to seeing him again.

Tegoshi smiles and agrees without thinking.

On Wednesday, he sits in front of his closet for two hours, trying to decide on what to wear. The small alcove is neat and orderly, out of place in his otherwise cluttered room, and it’s split nearly down the middle. On the right side are jeans and slacks, t-shirts and button downs, masculine but appealing; on the left are skirts, long and short, blouses made out of soft, delicate material, feminine and pretty. He stares into it blankly, occasionally peering over his shoulder at the mirror on the vanity near his bed, inwardly debating, thinking, considering.

It would be so easy to just grab something from the right side; a pair of jeans, something form fitting, maybe. He could stop this before it got out of hand, tell Masuda the truth, save them both the possible heartache.

But he’s never been with someone like Masuda before; he’s never had someone like Masuda be _interested_ in him before. He usually attracts a rougher type; a less than pleasant crowd that Koyama and Kato typically scowl at when mentioned. And even with them, it’s rarely a relationship; sex, yes, but never anything emotional. He’d let himself get picked up at one of his frequented clubs, let them take him out for a bit, spoil him if they wanted, but it never goes passed that. No strings; strings make things complicated.

But Masuda is _different_. He’s sweet and friendly with bright, unhaunted eyes and a pleasant laugh. He asked Tegoshi out for _coffee_ , for heaven’s sake! Not for dinner, where they might flirt boldly and leave together; not for a movie, where there would be sneaked kisses in a back row and maybe, maybe something a little bit more risqué; for coffee, where they’d talk and get to know each other. It would be _personal_.

 _Well,_ he corrects in his mind, _personal for_ Yuuko, _anyway_.

Inwardly loathing himself, he quickly grabs something from the left side. He hates the idea of lying to Masuda, but he wants this, even if just for a while; wants the chance to experience something normal, even if it’s based on a lie.

It’s not like it will last, anyway. Good things never do. Not for him, anyway.

* * *

Masuda is already there when Tegoshi arrives, sitting at a table-for-two beside a large glass window. He looks bored, has lined up all of the cream and sugar packets in front of him, is playing with a spoon like a child might. That, combined with what he’s wearing –a bizarre pink and yellow shirt with printed speech bubbles and a pair of camouflage shorts—make for a surprisingly endearing image.

He brightens up the instant he spots Tegoshi, and the sight of it makes Tegoshi smile despite his inward trepidation. They order together, a pair of coffees, and agree to split an order of fries –although Masuda warns him that he probably won’t get to eat too many of them—and then they talk.

Tegoshi is surprised at how easy it is to talk to Masuda, or more correctly, how easy it is to _communicate_ with him. Masuda is friendly and open; a little on the quiet side maybe, but he answers and asks questions at just the right pace that Tegoshi knows he’s paying attention; that he’s interested. Tegoshi learns that Masuda is only a year older than him; that he attended a special high school designed to fast track students into a medical career; that he originally wanted to be a teacher, but went into nursing after his own mother was struck by an early case of Alzheimer’s.

He learns other things, too; inconsequential, little things that help to piece together a larger picture of who Masuda is beneath the scrubs and nametag. His favorite color is yellow, he likes to shop in his spare time, and he’s had the same hair style ever since he was in junior high.

And it’s _fun_. Tegoshi is startled by that, but he finds that he really enjoys it. He and Masuda are a good match; they get along well, spend the entire time chatting comfortably, like they’d know each other for years. Tegoshi isn’t used to that; he’s not one for idle chit chat, usually. He prefers action; motion; _touch_. But with Masuda, it’s pleasant, not boring.

The date is only supposed to last an hour or two, but instead they end up staying there until after nine, when the café closes and they have to leave. It’s pitch black when they wander out, and Tegoshi frowns, surprised that he hadn’t noticed the time until just now.

“Do you need a ride?” Masuda asks, looking concerned.

Tegoshi frowns, considering. He took the subway earlier, the traffic during midday too bad to even consider taking his car, but the idea of taking it home at this hour is unsettling. After a moment, he nods, smiling when Masuda gives him a grin and offers his arm.

The drive is quiet. Masuda lets Tegoshi play with the radio until he finds something he likes, smiles fondly when he sings along happily. It doesn’t take too long to reach Tegoshi’s apartment complex, but when they finally pull up to the curb outside of the right building, they spend a few minutes afterwards just sitting there comfortably. Masuda hesitates, Tegoshi waits, and finally, the older of the two speaks up.

“Ne, Yuuko-chan…” Tegoshi stiffens at the sound of that name, shoulders going board-straight. Masuda notices his sudden discomfort, glances at Tegoshi in concern. “…is something wrong?”

Tegoshi bites his lower lips, avoids Masuda’s eyes. “Could you… not call me that?”

Masuda blinks, and for a moment, he looks surprised and, oddly enough, a bit embarrassed. “Oh…” he responds, and Tegoshi realizes that it’s disappointment that he hears in the older’s voice. “Sorry. I just thought…”

Tegoshi realizes with a start that Masuda has misunderstood him completely. “No, no!” He leans forward, just enough so that his shoulder bumps against Masuda’s. “It’s not that.” Truthfully, it doesn’t bother him, the idea of Masuda using his first name. It’s kind of nice, really. But… “I just… don’t like that name very much.”

“Oh…” Masuda repeats, but Tegoshi is relieved to find that he sounds less upset now, more amused. “Then… what should I call you?”

 _Yuya_ , he wants to say. _Call me Yuya_.  
     
But he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles, somewhat tightly, lets his fingers brush against Masuda’s gently. “You’ll figure something out,” he tells him, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to slip out of the car and make his way to the front door, pausing just outside to wave, chuckling quietly to himself when Masuda waits until he’s inside before finally driving off.

* * *

Tegoshi’s apartment is on the third floor, but the elevator only works half the time, so he ends up taking the stairs. The door is unlocked when he reaches it, which surprises Tegoshi, since Kato is usually firm about leaving it locked unless they’re expecting someone. He and Koyama are likely home by now, and it makes Tegoshi a bit nervous; he’d been hoping to beat them back. He hadn’t expected his outing with Masuda to last this long.

When he finally yanks open the door and steps inside, he hears Kato’s voice first and foremost, loud even out in the entrance hall. He’s on the phone, Tegoshi assumes, and he sounds a bit worried. Stripping of his shoes, Tegoshi inches further in.

He finds his two roommates in the living room. Kato is standing near the glass door leading out to the balcony, his cellphone plastered to his ear, brow furrowed. Koyama is pacing the floor, still in his work clothes, looking frantic. Tegoshi hesitates in the doorway, wonders what’s going on, before finally clearing his throat. Both Koyama and Kato look up, and for a moment, the two of them look stunned. Kato lets out a shaky breath, mumbles into the phone, “Never mind, he’s here,” and then snaps it shut. Koyama stares at him for a grand total of three seconds, and then suddenly he’s there, clutching at Tegoshi so tightly that the younger can barely breathe.

“Thank God you’re okay!” Koyama half-wails, sounding incredibly relived. Tegoshi chokes something out, but is ignored. He yelps when Koyama starts shaking him. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?! No one knew where you were and you weren’t answering your cellphone!”

Kato comes up behind them, watching with narrowed eyes. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Koyama abruptly stops, pulls away from Tegoshi enough to get a good look at him, and Tegoshi flushes awkwardly under their eyes. “I thought you only visited your mother on Sundays,” Koyama says, sounding perplexed, eyeing the skirt and wig curiously. Behind him, Kato folds his arms over his chest and gives Tegoshi a stern glance.

Tegoshi fidgets, uncomfortable, and finally admits, “I… wasn’t visiting my mother.”

“Then what’s with the skirt?”

Tegoshi goes red, nervous suddenly, bites his lower lip. Koyama still has him by the shoulders, his grip tight, and Tegoshi kind of wishes he’d let go now, or at least loosen his fingers up a bit. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he knows that Koyama and Kato won’t let it go; if he doesn’t tell them, then they’ll just start snooping around. Swallowing his pride (or whatever he has left of it), he sighs, and mumbles quietly, “I kind of had a… date.”

They stare at him blankly for a long moment, and Tegoshi squirms under the attention. Kato gets it first, and his expression morphs into one that’s almost disappointed, pitying. “Tegoshi, you didn’t—“

“I know, I know!” Tegoshi wriggles out of Koyama’s grip, suddenly feeling very trapped; cornered. “I just… I met him at the hospital, okay?” He feels like he wants to go find a rock somewhere to crawl under. He doesn’t want to talk about this; if he doesn’t talk about it out loud, he can at least _pretend_ that it’s perfectly normal. “He asked me out. I…” He shrugs, helpless, not knowing how to explain himself, or the situation for that matter.

But Koyama and Kato know him well enough, maybe better than he knows himself, and the two trade a concerned look before Koyama steps closer and drapes an arm around Tegoshi’s shoulders, gently, supportive. Tegoshi makes a tiny, sad little noise from the back of his throat and leans into the older man, suddenly tired and drained.

“You know you’re going to have to tell him, right?” Kato says, reaching up to gently remove the wig. Tegoshi nods unhappily against Koyama’s shoulder. “You can’t just lie to him about something like this.”

“I know,” He mumbles, sounding and feeling a little bit heartbroken. “I will.”  
 _  
Eventually,_ he adds in his mind. _Soon._ Dragging it out won’t be good for anyone, even if it means he’ll have to ruin something that could be absolutely wonderful. The sooner he does it, the better off they’ll be.

He wonders, if he keeps telling himself that, whether or not he’ll be able to convince himself that it’s true.


	3. Part Three

As it turns out, ‘soon’ is not within the next month, nor the month after that. Tegoshi and Masuda keep seeing each other, once or twice a week at most, quiet dates that are unlike anything Tegoshi has ever experienced. He supposes it has something to do with Yuuko; Masuda is, after all, courting him like he would a girl. (Tegoshi wonders if it would be any different if he knew the truth, but he usually puts a stop to that train of thought before it can go any farther, because it reminds him rather forcefully that he’s still lying to Masuda, and that makes him uncomfortable.)

They share their first kiss almost two weeks to the day after they start dating. It’s sweet and chaste and not really all that passionate, but Tegoshi giggles when they part and Masuda blushes –because he hadn’t really been planning on kissing “her”, he admits later—and they’re both relatively satisfied with it; at least enough that decide to do it again. And again. And a few dozen times after that, too.

By the time the first month has passed, Tegoshi is more than ready to take things a step further. Masuda is still a bit shy, still blushes when they sneak kisses from across a table or in the hallway of the hospital before Tegoshi leaves. But he’s eager too, Tegoshi can tell, from the way his hands wander occasionally, drifting down his side to rest on his hip when they’re walking, the way his breath hitches when Tegoshi finally makes himself pull away.

And that makes it harder to keep holding back, knowing that Masuda wants him too. Or at least he wants Yuuko.

By the time the third month comes around, Tegoshi is fairly certain he’s going to go insane. He’s not a slut by any means, but he does enjoy a rather healthy sexual lifestyle, one that has come to a grinding halt since he began seeing Masuda. And while that bothers him quite a bit –he kind of seriously misses sex—he’s surprised to find that it’s not quite as earth shattering as it might have been a few months ago.

Because even without sex, he’s still happier with Masuda than he has been with anyone before. Masuda treats him like he’s _special_ ; someone to be doted on and adored and, well… _loved_.  It’s not something Tegoshi is used to, but it’s nice, having someone care so much.

But still… _sex_. He really, _really_ misses sex.

* * *

A week and a half into the third month, Tegoshi comes home in something of a bad mood. He’s spent the last few hours out and about with Masuda, and while it had been fun and just as wonderful as every date prior, his frustration level is at its peak.

He stumbles inside, kicks off his shoes lazily –he’s already changed out of Yuuko’s outfit, stealing a moment in, of all places, a utility closet-- and runs a hand through his hair as he wanders towards the living room. Kato is there, settled on the couch, reading a novel or textbook or something, and he barely even glances up from it when Tegoshi wanders over and collapses face first beside him. Instead, he flips the page and comments, somewhat dryly, “I take it you had fun.”

Tegoshi mumbles something darkly under his breath, not appreciating the sarcasm, and raises his voice just loud enough to growl, “Shut up.”

Kato lifts an eyebrow, glances at the younger from over the top of his book. “Touchy,” he comments airily, and Tegoshi lifts his head just enough off the couch cushions to glare at him.

“Shige,” he starts, voice low, “I haven’t had sex in _three months_. Back off, or you’re going to lose a limb.”

The older man frowns, marks his place in his book with his index finger and looks at Tegoshi properly. “Isn’t your flavor of the month supposed to take care of that?” He pulls back a bit at the surprisingly fierce look Tegoshi gives him in response.

“I’m not going to _cheat_ on Taka!”

He’s about to go further, but he’s interrupted by a loud noise from the kitchen, and a few seconds later Koyama steps out in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a shirt that Tegoshi is pretty sure belongs to Kato. “I think he was talking about ‘Taka’, Tego.” The eldest points out, shuffling over the couch. “What’s wrong? Trouble in paradise?”

Tegoshi pouts slightly, shakes his head. “No,” He mumbles, ducking his head somewhat nervously, not liking the line that this conversation happens to be toeing across, “Everything’s fine.” Koyama nudges his shoulder, and he obediently sits up and scoots down the couch to make room for him. Kato grumbles unhappily at being jostled as Tegoshi squeezes in beside him, but doesn’t complain about it.

“Then why do you have something to complain about?”

Shrugging rather limply, Tegoshi squirms uncomfortably. “We’re just… not there yet,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. He pointedly avoids meeting either Koyama or Kato’s eyes.

Kato watches him suspiciously, eyes narrowed, a hint of realization touching the edge of his mind. “It’s not like you to take things slow,” he comments, seemingly casual. Tegoshi fidgets, shrugs weakly. “ _Tegoshi_.” Kato’s voice is hard, and when Tegoshi makes no move to answer him, he gets all the answer he needs. “You _did_ tell him, didn’t you?” Again, no response. “Tegoshi!”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” He finally bursts, cringing at the look at both Kato and Koyama send him.

“Tego, you’ve been seeing him for months!” Koyama stares at him, incredulous. “And he still thinks you’re…” He waves a hand vaguely, but it isn’t hard to guess what he’s getting at. Tegoshi nods, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, and Koyama groans, pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Tegoshi…” But he stops, unable to think of anything to say.

Kato, however, isn’t quite as limited. “I don’t get it,” he grumbles, scowling at Tegoshi, who is doing his best to look pathetic. Really, he should know by now that that look doesn’t work on Kato. “I don’t see why you’re keeping it a secret.” Tegoshi gives him a strange look, and the older goes on, “I mean, best case scenario: he turns out to be bi and you two can jump each other and be done with it. Worst case, he drops you and you can go find someone _else_ to fuck you senseless.” He shrugs, attention going back to his book. “It’s a win-win for you, isn’t it?”

He misses the look that Tegoshi gives him –infuriated, angry, upset—but he doesn’t miss the way the younger scrambles off the couch, throws him one last dirty look, before storming off. The sound of a door slamming violently follows his departure, and Kato stares after him, dumbfounded.

“…what?” He looks to Koyama, who is giving him an unimpressed look. “What’d I say?”

Koyama sighs, reaches out to pat Kato’s shoulder. “Shige, I love you,” he says, sounding exasperated. “But sometimes you’re an insensitive _idiot_.”

Kato stares at him blankly, not getting it. Koyama sighs again.

* * *

It’s a few hours before Tegoshi comes back out. Kato is still on the couch, although now he’s simply watching some variety show. Koyama is fighting with dinner in the kitchen, and he’s making a deafeningly loud clamor in the process. Kato glances up when Tegoshi shuffles up to the couch, dressed now in loose, comfortable clothes. The younger fidgets uncomfortable, wringing his right hand with his left, and Kato watches him quietly for a moment before stretching out an inviting arm.

Tegoshi jumps for it.

It isn’t often that Kato lets him cuddle; usually that sort of thing is left to Koyama, who doesn’t mind having Tegoshi attached to his side for hours at a time. But occasionally Kato will let him curl up beside him, usually on days when he’s trying to apologize for something, or when Tegoshi is particularly upset.

Today counts for both, Tegoshi supposes.

Several minutes pass before either of them talk, and surprisingly, it’s Kato that breaks the silence first. “You really like this guy, don’t you?” Tegoshi sniffles and nods against his shoulder. “Love him?” Here, the younger hesitates, nibbles on his lower lip thoughtfully, seriously considering the question.

“…maybe,” he offers quietly, although he sounds uncertain.

Kato sighs. “You know you can’t lie to him forever. He’s going to find out eventually.” Tegoshi nods again, face falling, the corners of his lips turning down. It’s a ridiculously pathetic image, and Kato is ashamed to find that it tugs on his heartstrings, just a bit. “What are you so scared of, anyway?”

Tegoshi gives him an incredulous look, like he can’t believe he’s being asked that. Kato gives him a level glance in return, and the younger squirms. “I… what if he hates me?” He looks absolutely heartbroken at the very idea, shifting away from Kato, pulling his knees up to his chest. “He makes me _happy_ , Shige. When I’m with him…” He breaks off with a quietly helpless noise, looking like he wants to start crying. Kato panics momentarily, reaches out to pat his back awkwardly. Tegoshi makes a miserable sound and trembles. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“If you keep lying to him, you will,” Kato points out, and Tegoshi cringes, but nods, knowing he’s right. At this point, it isn’t a matter of _if_ Masuda finds out; it’s a matter of _when_. The real deciding point will come in the form of how he finds out; whether Tegoshi tells him or not. Kato sighs, reaches out to touch his shoulder supportively. “Look,” He says, “If this guy really likes you, your gender isn’t going to change that. He might be a little upset that you kept it a secret, but he’ll still care.”

Tegoshi doesn’t seem convinced. “And if he doesn’t?”

Kato’s hand drifts from his shoulder to the back of his neck, squeezes comfortingly. Tegoshi lets him, because it’s rare that Kato is so kind to him, and it’s kind of nice, having someone there to do more than just tell him things will be alright, which is what Koyama usually does. Kato is more down to earth, less willing to sugarcoat things, to be gentle. Sometimes it gets him into trouble, but Tegoshi can appreciate it, at least for the moment.

“Then he doesn’t deserve you.” Kato says in response, perfectly serious, and Tegoshi smiles despite himself. He glances at the older, still feeling miserable and upset, but somehow it’s not as bad as it was.

“Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, because it feels right to say it. Kato gives him a smile –a rare one, fond and gently affectionate, that Kato usually only gives when Tegoshi’s back is turned—and ruffles his hair gently.

“It’ll be all right.” The older promises, and Tegoshi is surprised to find that he might believe him, just a bit.

* * *

Their next date isn’t for another week, because Masuda is having a rough time at work and has to work a few extra shifts. Tegoshi is left floundering because of it.

Now that he’s come to a decision, the extra wait is driving him insane. He would have preferred to just get it out of the way; done and over with, so at the very least he could start to heal. Instead he has to trudge through the next six days, temperamental and unhappy, worrying and tearing himself up inside over what’s coming.

He spends the time latched onto Koyama and occasionally Kato, even going so far as to follow Koyama to work one day. Kato complains about it repeatedly, snaps at Tegoshi several times, but never pushes him away. Both of the older men realize that this is Tegoshi’s form of procrastination, knowing that he could easily pick up the phone to call Masuda and the nurse would come over the first free moment he got. They don’t mention it, Koyama because he’s smart enough to realize that this is something Tegoshi needs to handle in his own way, Kato because Koyama not-so-subtly threatens him with the couch if he does.

Saturday comes around a bit too quickly for Tegoshi, not quickly enough for his roommates, and the night before, Tegoshi lays awake, as he has every night previous, watching the clock and trying not to think about anything but the bright red digital numbers. His cellphone lights up on his nightstand, and the text message is from Masuda, inviting him out for a movie the next day.

Tegoshi reads it several times, bites his lower lip. He could back out now, come up with an excuse, delete Masuda’s number from his phone and never see him again. He could end things without having to humiliate himself in the process. It’s tempting; he doesn’t want to live through the inevitable rejection that’s going to happen tomorrow, and he could avoid it by running from it.

But he’d still have to see Masuda every Sunday at the hospital; he’d still have to face him eventually. And it wouldn’t be fair to Masuda to do something so selfish.  He deserves better than that, even if it breaks Tegoshi’s heart in the process.

Fingers trembling, he types out a brief response, snaps his phone closed, and curls into a tight ball on his bed, staying that way for the rest of the night.

* * *

Masuda picks him up in the early evening the next day, grinning pleasantly at Tegoshi through the car window as he pulls the door open and slips inside. He’s still wearing the skirt and wig, but only for now. He doesn’t think it would be right to give Masuda such a shock; not now. He’ll wait until they have a quiet moment together, when there’s no one around; when they can talk in private without being heard or seen.

So instead, he tries to focus on the date. Masuda is cheerful as ever, quiet but thoughtful, and while Tegoshi would normally chatter on to the older man about whatever came to mind, today he simply enjoys his company, occasionally commenting on something he thinks Masuda might find interesting, but otherwise just taking advantage of the company he has.

Masuda lets him pick the movie, being the gentleman that he is, and Tegoshi is so distracted that he randomly selects a popular romantic comedy and lets Masuda escort him in.

The movie is good. Or at least Tegoshi assumes it is, considering the fact that he pays absolutely no attention to it whatsoever, other than to laugh at the appropriate times that everyone else does. Halfway through, Masuda leans over the arm rest between their seats and kisses his cheek sweetly. Tegoshi feels his face heat up, and it only gets worse when Masuda murmurs softly, right against his ear, “Are you okay?”

He sounds honestly concerned, and Tegoshi feels a little bit guilty at the fact that he’s too distracted with trying to keep his skirt from displaying the slight stirring in his lower region to really give him a decent response beyond, “ ‘m fine…”

Masuda doesn’t look convinced, but after a moment, smiles at him and offers him some of the popcorn they ordered to share, letting the issue go. Tegoshi gives him a weak upturn of the lips in return and takes a few pieces, although he doesn’t bother even trying to eat them. Not with his stomach churning and clenching the way it is, the pit of it dropping out every few seconds as dread and uneasy pools inside of him. He thinks he might start shaking, if not for Masuda’s hand brushing his own, their shoulders bumping every few seconds.

The rest of the evening progresses about as smoothly as it possibly can with Tegoshi troubled and Masuda worried over him. When they leave the theater, the younger of the two has absolutely no idea what the film had been about, and he suspects Masuda doesn’t either.

It makes him feel horrible, on top of everything else. This was supposed to be special; possibly their last date. Tegoshi had wanted it to be something to remember. Instead, it’s something he desperately wants to forget; to hide from and escape and never have to face.

The drive back to Tegoshi’s apartment is unnervingly quiet. Masuda seems to sense that the younger has something on his mind, but doesn’t try to pry it out of him, instead waiting for Tegoshi to come to him when he’s ready. It’s the same tactic he always takes when the younger is bothered or troubled, and usually it works well.

Tonight it only serves to make the atmosphere between them more tense.

When they finally pull up, there’s a long pause before either of them moves. It’s almost unbearably awkward, and it hurts Tegoshi, because things between them aren’t supposed to be like this. When he’s with Masuda, he’s comfortable and content and he can be himself… even if himself happens to be dressed up as a girl. It isn’t supposed to be unsettling and apprehensive.

After a few minutes, Tegoshi finally can’t stand it anymore, and he pops open his door and slides out wordlessly. Masuda hesitates before following, and Tegoshi waits for him to catch up, lets the older man walk him to the front door of his apartment building.

When they get there, Masuda turns to him, gives him that sweet smile that makes Tegoshi’s heart ache, and after a moment, mumbles a quiet, “Good night,” before leaning down to kiss him. And it’s at that moment that Tegoshi knows that he needs to do it _now_ ; needs to tell the older man, needs to get it out in the open, regardless of the consequences. All at once, the guilt and frustration and pain become too much to bear, and shakily, he reaches up to take Masuda by the shoulders, pushing him away gently but firm.

“Taka, wait.”

Masuda pulls back, looking surprised and confused and a little bit hurt, and Tegoshi bites his lower lip nervously, knowing that now that he’s started, he won’t be able to stop. “Is something wrong?” The older asks, and Tegoshi quivers, just a bit.

“No, nothing,” _Everything_. “I just…” He sighs, takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge. “We really need to talk.” Masuda stares at him, making him fidget uncomfortably, but he keeps going, unsure if he’s making any sense but needing to get it out anyway. “I know I should have said something earlier, before things got… like this. But I just… I _couldn’t_. I really like you, and I know it’ll ruin everything, but…” He trails off, not knowing how to push forward. Masuda speaks then, looking at him with a furrowed, concerned expression.

“Are you… breaking up with me?”

“What?” Tegoshi’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly shakes his head. “No! No, it’s nothing like that!” Masuda looks relieved, and Tegoshi almost smiles at it. Almost. Instead, he tries again. “I… Taka, I’m not who you think I am.”

He’s about to go on, to explain everything, to finally come clean. But before he can, Masuda cuts him off, “Is… this about the skirts?” He reaches up, rubs the back of his neck, looking and sounding awkward, like he isn’t sure if he should say anything. “Because, if it is… I’m okay with it. Really.”

Tegoshi stares at him blankly. “…what?”

Masuda shrugs. “I wouldn’t have asked you out if I wasn’t.” He says it like Tegoshi knows what he’s talking about. He pauses for a second, and then licks his lips, looking a little excited. “But… can I…?” He waves a hand, and even though Tegoshi has no idea what he’s asking, he nods anyway. Masuda smiles brightly at him. “I’ve been curious for a while,” He says, and then, without any other warning, reaches up and gently removes the wig from Tegoshi’s head. Tegoshi nearly gapes, startled, but can’t really think of anything to say as Masuda looks at him – _him_ , this time, not _her_ —in surprise. “Oh, it’s brown.” he says, and it takes Tegoshi a moment to realize he’s talking about his hair. And then Masuda grins at him. “It suits you.”

And this time Tegoshi _does_ gape, “I… what…” He stops, starts again, finally tries to put together a real sentence. “I don’t understand. You… you _knew_?”

Masuda laughs, sounding embarrassed. “I’ve known since the beginning,” He admits, and Tegoshi feels a little bit like an idiot. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Tegoshi suddenly feels lost again, but Masuda keeps talking. “I really am okay with it, all right? I mean, you can’t help the way you are, and I like you for _you_ , not… you know, your sex. Or the sex you want to be.” He laughs nervously, clearly trying to put the younger at ease, but Tegoshi is too busy staring at him to notice, realizing, somewhat appalled, what it is that the older is implying.

“I… you think I’m…” He’s not sure if he should be insulted or just indignant. “Taka, I am _not_ a transvestite!”

Masuda looks confused. “But… the skirts—“

“—are purely for my mother’s benefit.” Tegoshi interrupts, feeling like he wants to start flailing just to get his point across. “In case you haven’t noticed, she kind of thinks I’m a _girl_.”

Masuda colors awkwardly. “You…” He stops abruptly, eyes wide, and then his expression morphs into one of utter mortification. “Oh god…” Groaning, he buries his face into his hands, hiding. It’s really rather cute, really. “I’m… really embarrassed now.” He says with an uneasy laugh, and Tegoshi smiles, because it’s endearing.

“How did you know?” He asks, feeling like he wants to start laughing. Or maybe cry a bit. Either would be okay right now, he figures.

Masuda laughs, still blushing hard, but apparently grateful for the distraction. He reaches out, gently touches Tegoshi’s neck with light fingers. “You have an Adam’s Apple.”  He tells the younger, and Tegoshi blinks, reaches up absently to confirm that, yes, he does have one. Masuda shrugs. “Girls don’t usually… have one, you know? Or at least not a noticeable one.”

Masuda looks hesitant then, like he’s not sure if he should or not, but after a moment, finally reaches out and pulls Tegoshi to him. Tegoshi sighs softly, fits himself comfortably against the older man, and somehow it’s so much more natural now, to do it as himself, and now as Yuuko; like they somehow fit better together now, without that horrible secret –or maybe it’s a non-secret, because Masuda knew all along—hanging between them. Masuda drops a kiss to his hair and Tegoshi smiles against his shoulder.

After a long moment, Tegoshi lifts his head, nuzzles Masuda’s jaw affectionately. The older smiles, gives his lower back a brief rub, and then, after faltering for just a few seconds, leans down to press a kiss to Tegoshi’s lips. It’s slow and easy, and very much like every other kiss they’ve ever shared, but somehow it’s also different, because this time Masuda is kissing _him_ , and that makes it better than anything else in the world.

When they part, slow and reluctant, it’s only to catch their breath. Tegoshi is flushed and a little bit dazed, but very, very happy, and it probably shows, because Masuda smiles down at him fondly, leans forward to drop another kiss, this time to his forehead.

“What’s your name?” The older asks, peering down at him curiously. “Your real name, I mean.”

Tegoshi makes a soft noise, and after a moment, responds quietly, “Yuya,”

“ _Yuya_ ,” Masuda repeats, although he says it like it’s something special, important, valuable. The sound of it –of his name rolling off the older man’s tongue so smoothly—is oddly appealing to Tegoshi, in some oddly flawed way utterly perfect. After a long moment, Masuda glances at him with hopeful eyes and a familiar grin. “…can I call you that?”

Tegoshi suspects the smile he’s wearing is rather stupid looking and maybe a little bit too strong, but Masuda doesn’t seem to mind, and frankly, he’s too happy to bring himself to care. “Yeah,” he agrees, dropping his head back onto Masuda’s shoulder, content to stay like this for a very, very long time. “I think I’d like that.”

Masuda grins a silly grin, kisses his head, cheek, the corner of his lips, and then rests his cheek against Tegoshi’s hair comfortably, mumbling his name softly, over and over, and Tegoshi thinks, for the very first time, that maybe this time it really _will_ last.

 

END


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